


Carol Caterwauling

by Nitheliniel



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Christmas Caroling, Gen, Sort Of, Winter traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-22 04:29:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17053157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitheliniel/pseuds/Nitheliniel
Summary: A song from the heart may melt snow and ice - and bitter hearts.Young Elrond and Elros establish a dear family tradition.





	Carol Caterwauling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kim_onka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kim_onka/gifts).



> **To shewhodoesnotexist**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for giving me a prompt (Maglor and the twins) - I took it gladly! And as your (no longer) Secret Santa, I can only say, I hope you like your present. Happy Holidays!
> 
>  **Beta:** raiyana - Thank you so much for making short work of my mistakes!

He had been singing relentlessly for the past hours - in purposeful disregard of his brother’s sideward glances, cautioning at first, before growing from annoyed to angry. He knew of the dangers of the wilderness they were traversing, but unless he would be ordered to silence, he was determined to continue, since when he stopped, the trembling would start. There were periods of time each day in which naught but his singing returned life to the two pairs of grey eyes, too large for the small faces, and naught but his voice was able to stop the twins’ shivering when memory took over reality. Or maybe it was that their reality of hard riding in a harsh country - seated behind strangers who were the very reason for heir repeated nightmares as well as their only hope of survival - overcame their warm memories of home.

 

He could not tell.

They _would not_ tell.

 

They would only shiver and cling to each other until parted when their journey continued.

 

Maglor finally ended his song when yet another gust of wind stole the note from his lips. Immediately, he could feel the quiver intensify in the small frame pressed flush against his back. Unconsciously, he moved a gloved hand to his waist, were a thin arm struggled to hold on without holding too tight. As soon as his fingers brushed over the skin, the arm withdrew with such force that his horse had to sidestep to keep the child from falling. Unsure what else to do with the hand meant to comfort, he patted the mare’s neck, thanking her for taking good care of both her riders.

“We have to stop!” he called out to his brother, riding tall in front of him – a display of strength unwilling to bend to the whims of early winter.

“We cannot!”

The hood-covered head turned towards him and immediately the wind pulled out strands of red hair from where it had been hidden beneath the cloak collar. Unable to braid his hair himself, Maedhros relied on his brother’s service and that had been lacking these past weeks as Maglor’s time was taken up equally by the care for their charges and his guilt.

“We have been riding too hard these last days... The children cannot go on much longer, Nelyo. We must rest.”

Maedhros turned his horse while he considered those words. Maglor watched him shift in his saddle, until his large frame screened the boy behind him from view and from the cruel wind. He may have argued for taking the twins with them or maybe he had even pleaded, but Maedhros had needed little convincing. They both remembered another pair of boys of whose fate they knew nothing.

 _Each time we come close to peredhil twins, we lose brothers,_ he silently shared with his brother, but when he received an answer it was not to his thoughts.

“We will, Kanó. But we must find shelter first. Snow will come!”

Maglor could smell it too, the cold threat in the air, and nodded. Should they find shelter, he silently vowed to himself, he would take time to comb and braid his brother’s hair.

Maedhros waved off some of their company to scout ahead and Maglor resumed his singing. His song bore no words, but the tune promised a spring would come with a golden sun, gentle rains, and the brilliant song of birds. After a shorter while than yesterday, the thin arm snaked back into place and he allowed himself a brief smile.

 

\----  

 

“That’s not how you hold a harp, Elros!”

“It’s not how you hold anything, really.”

Afraid of being found out, Elrond withdrew into condescension. Before him, Elros was determinedly trying to place the harp between his feet. Before, he had tried balancing it on his knees, mimicking their captor… their guardian… their – Maglor! – but lacked the reach to hold it in place. He now struggled to find purchase with either his feet or his arms and the instrument was in constant danger of tumbling to the ground. Each unintended jostle wrung a sound close to a whimper from the strings and Elrond felt with them. They were used more skilful hands.   

“Oh, I can’t hold a harp? - And you, and you... you can’t carry a tune!“

“At least, I do not destroy things!”

“So, I'm clumsy?”

“No, inconsiderate!”

 _Showoff,_ Elros thought. Trust his brother to use such a term when there were perfectly good other words. But that was Elrond for you: learned and versed and with the need to please.

Yet it had been Elros’ idea to thank their … Maedhros and Maglor for their kindness. They had found shelter from the sudden and heavy snows in an abandoned farmhouse with the plan to sit out the bad weather and move on. Three days later they had been snowed in and after a week Maedhros had grudgingly declared they would have to hibernate. Mid-winter had come and seen their supplies diminished but although the twins had received ample food, they had noticed when a horse had gone missing from the stables. ‘Run away!’ Maglor had told them - but that evening there had been fresh meat and they had realised the brothers had given them most of their own rations, going hungry themselves.

“I'm very thoughtful. This was _my_ idea after all!“

And just because he felt he had to prove a point, he added:

“You’d _never_ do anything so ...”

“Foolish?”

Elros glared at his brother.

“Rash?”

Pity, really, that Elrond was so much better at glaring.

“ _Fitting_ ,” he stopped his twin. “Music for a musician.“

Giving up, he handed Elrond the harp.

“You play, I sing!”

 

\----

 

“Next time we encounter a horde of Orcs, I know exactly what to do!” Maedhros muttered under his breath and in Quenya, just in case, though he highly doubted that the two small musicians were able to hear him over their enthusiastic display.

Though his words were meant in jest, he cast a worried glance at his brother. It was his beloved harp being cruelly mistreated, after all.

There was indeed a slightly pained expression on Maglor’s face, only perceptible because he knew him so well: a strained notion to the elegantly arched eyebrow and a twitch to one corner of his mouth that had not yet decided whether to become a frown or a smile.

He was relieved to see it grow into the latter.

“The enemy would adopt them gladly. A formidable new weapon! No army of Elves or Men could hear this and stand strong.”

“Let us hope that neither can _winter_.”

Briefly, they both glanced towards a barred window, keeping out the howling wind and the horizontally falling snow. They would not leave for some time yet.

 

On a particularly high note, a string snapped.

 

“Good grace, were there none at the Havens to teach them? Káno, a lot of work awaits you.” 

“I fear, no amount of teaching will ever be enough,” Maglor declared after a few more moments in which miraculously the instrument took no further harm. “No training will suffice to remedy this lack of talent. – Nay, Nelyo, in order to live through similar musical encounters yet to come, I will have to do more: I will have to raise them.

 _You will have to love them, too!_ Maedhros thought, but a quick look at his brother’s heroic stoicism in the face of the destruction of a valuable and precious harp told him that Maglor was already a long way down that path... and - to his own great surprise! - he found he felt glad for him.

In the blissful silence following the twins’ performance, Maedhros watched Maglor rise and slowly cross the room. Carefully, he extricated the harp from Elrond’s shaking hands and placed it aside before he knelt and took the boy's hands in his. ‘You have done so well! Thank you!’ he heard him praise and watched the two small, serious faces light up.  

 

Maybe, each time they lost brothers in the pursuit of their doomed cause, they were given a chance, too.  

 

\---

 

**Two Ages later**

 

“Must we, dearest?”

Celebrían’s voice was pleading. She had seen her sons assemble a distractingly large collection of musical instruments and watched in dismay as they carried them towards the Hall of Fire.

“Why not let our minstrels scare … sing away the snow? I believe our human visitors also want to introduce one of their mid-winter traditions. Something about burning a log. It would be inconsiderate to…”

Her valiant attempt to save her own hearing as well as that of the other inhabitants of the Last Homely House was quashed by the House’s lord. “No! It is tradition! The mid of winter is announced by the youngest in the household. It is a dear part of the winter’s festivities to everyone.” When two arms circled her waist and pulled her close in a tender but firm embrace, she surrendered to her fate. Even the harsh reality of the twins’ lack of musical talent could not overcome Elrond’s fond memories.

 _It seems,_ Celebrían thought, _we can only hope for Lindir to procreate in the near future._

 

Perhaps there was still time to ask Erestor to bring earplugs for her as well.

  



End file.
